Fitting For The End-Times Ball

She learned before the age of nine There was no time left for childhoodNot with the Russians reinventing themselvesAnd the North Koreans figuring out the Bomb.

Instead, she seized upon those moments of joyThat sometimes came while relaxing between choresBut every day, things got more serious, And the Bible studies grew more ominous.

So, one night, after curfew, she awakened her brother,And beckoned him to join her in the Protective Clothing LockerWhere, quiet as thieves, they donned doomsday suitsAnd slung on their stifling gas masks.

They lost themselves, and danced with gleeFogging up their face shields with muffled laughterUntil she was struck with the realizationThat she’d never have a boyfriend or get to attend prom.

Breathless, sweaty, she winced hard to hold back the tears,Imagining her suit a lovely evening gown, and the mask a gleaming gold tiaraIn time, she even managed a faint smile, Noting that the air inside didn’t smell like rubber anymore.